


Omnes Oculi

by Aelwyn



Series: Vox Populi [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animus-Induced Trauma, Assassin's Creed (2016), Assassin's Creed (Video Games) - Freeform, CANON-COMPLIANT THROUGH AC: VALHALLA), Cal needs to take a chill pill, Charlie you okay sweetie?, DADMOND MILES, Dadmond, Desmond Lives AU, Desmond Miles Lives, Desmond is a Good Dad, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mavis for Monarch, Mild Canon Divergence but stays as close to canon as possible, Mild Language, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), No Sex, No Smut, OLIVER BOWDEN NOVELS REFERENCED, Rated Mature for violence ONLY, Rebecca and Shaun Mistaken for Being in a Relationship (BY EVERYONE), Sequel, Set in the Modern Storyline Post-2016 Movie Events, Sofia you too gal, The Animus (Assassin's Creed), Watch Dogs Series (Mentioned), Who gave Avery coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelwyn/pseuds/Aelwyn
Summary: All Eyes. (Latin; with thanks to ertrunkener_Wassergeist)“My name is Desmond Miles. I’m the Mentor of an Assassin splinter sect called ‘Vox Populi,’ caught in the never-ending war between my people and the Templars. A war that I was willing to die for, to save a world that never cared to save me. I was meant to be expendable. But no one is.My group is made up of the abandoned, the manipulated, the used, the discarded. All of us have suffered in this war, mostly by being shoved into an Animus and having our minds scrambled by Abstergo not caring about safety protocols. But we escaped.Since we’ve fortified our base of operations in Masyaf - a sort of homecoming we never dreamed possible - we can begin to make a difference rather than just trying to stay alive. We can fight in this war again. And we’re willing and able.The Assassins think we’re harmless if annoying extremists, the Templars a shadowy threat they can’t identify aside from Dr. Rikkin who’s out for our blood. Neither side realizes just what we’re capable of. Neither does the world. But we’re ready to show them all what we’re made of, and we were born for this.My name is Desmond Miles, and this is my ongoing story.”
Relationships: All Ancestral Assassins/Spouses (Mentioned), Rebecca Crane/Shaun Hastings
Series: Vox Populi [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825954
Comments: 140
Kudos: 212





	1. Prologue: The Road So Far

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope some of you guys realized that I was emulating the Desmond intro that can be heard at the start of Assassin’s Creed II in my fic summary. And if not, well, now you know... this chapter title is also a not so subtle reference to the show Supernatural. Because I am a massive nerd and can’t help being cheeky.
> 
> I’m Baaaaaack! Hi guys! In anticipation of the Valhalla release in November, I'm posting this as a taster, thinking I’ll begin it before any DLC comes out and leave it open to finish it when the last content is released. That way you don’t have to wait for a full, final content dump before getting a new story from me.

_“Laa shay’a waqi’un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine.”_

_Al Mualim paced the training yard as Altaïr sat calmly before him, legs folded underneath with head bowed and his hands splayed on a small, portable stone plinth. His cowl was down, the Syrian winter wind biting across his face and turning his cheeks rosy from the cold. The Brotherhood were gathered around them, silently bearing witness._

_“These are the words of our Order. Remember, my son. Where other men blindly follow the truth, we take nothing for fact. Where other men limit themselves by their morality and law, we are bound to none. We are made free.” He drew a wicked knife from the folds of his robe and stopped in front of the plinth. “We work from the shadows that we might serve the light of a higher good.” The knife came down, and the sharp tang of blood permeated the air. The pain made Altaïr’s eyes water, but he clenched his jaw against crying out._

_Al Mualim wiped the blade clean on a small piece of linen before handing the cloth to Altaïr, who immediately pressed it to his severed ring finger. The Old Man of the Mountain stalked behind him, pulling up his cowl to shade his face._

_“Rise, for you are an Assassin.”_

Desmond clung desperately to the memory as he curled tight in a ball on the floor of the room he’d been thrown into, his own severed ring finger gushing in the hot heat of a Moroccan summer. 

-/\\-

_ Early March of 2020 _

Dr. Sofia Rikkin had used Shay Patrick Cormac’s memories in the Animus to train her own group of Assassin Hunters. Each and every single one showed extreme signs of mental instability with more so-called ‘upgrades’ to her prototype designs speeding up the absorption rate. 

Desmond had been going solo on a standard recon mission, savoring the freedom from responsibility whilst still fulfilling a purpose in the Brotherhood, and while the Council in Vox Populi had protested his Ancestors had been looking forward to it as well. It was just them, their skills, and a wide open world. The work was monotonous but just challenging enough to be interesting, and It was a good way to stretch his legs. 

Not that he’d been aware of Sofia’s Hunters back then, which was over a month ago. He’d been forced to go dark save for a once-weekly email to his people to let them know he was still alive, and over and over again Haytham expressed his regret in allowing Shay’s training to continue as far as it had because now things had come full circle and the bane of the colonial Assassins was nipping in spirit at what remained of its Templar Grandmaster’s heels. Eventually Desmond had had enough, and after storing his beloved gear he’d allowed himself to be caught. 

He’d immediately been taken to a disused office complex and shoved in a room with a small private half bathroom, the windows nailed over with planks and the air conditioning broken. None of the lights worked. The most unstable-looking Hunter, a man named Pieter, had delighted in inflicting physical pain. After a week he became impatient and stepped up his game as Desmond had provided no information on the location of his Order, and that was how Desmond found out that Sofia had a personal score to settle against himself and Callum Lynch in particular. While Desmond was a prize catch, Pieter apparently wanted the set. 

When Desmond refused to be cooperative, Pieter had cut his finger. He had done it with a sneer, making it clear that he was making mockery of the out of practice but extremely symbolic ceremony, and that was when Desmond had taken refuge in the memory of Altaïr’s own ceremony. Altaïr had actively guided him through them, allowing them to become as Desmond’s own, replacing the slight with an honorable earned experience. 

It proved to be the final straw. When Pieter appeared before them again in the cell, it wasn’t Desmond who he interacted with.

-/\\-

Haytham stood calmly before the window, peering out at the streets of Morocco below him through a small slit in the wood planks and studying the external world with polite simultaneous interest and disinterest. His shoulders were thrown back, his hands clasped gingerly - minding the finger - behind his back, his head high and tilted slightly with an air of quiet but justified superiority. He made no reaction to the door slamming open behind him and made no move to turn toward his captors. In Desmond’s body he had to really work to show an educated Londoner of high class and money, but he managed. 

The footsteps halted and hesitated before striding closer, fabric rustling as an arm reached forward to lay hands on him.

“Hello, Shay,” he said quietly, a proper and precise 18th Century British London accent sliding effortlessly through as he spoke. All movement behind him froze.

“...What?” Pieter asked, eyes clouding. Haytham allowed a tiny smirk to form on his mouth. Whilst Pieter was entirely unreasonable, Shay was entirely about actively using the power of critical thinking. Expectance of blind obedience was exactly what had driven him to the Templars. 

“You attacked my descendant, Shay,” he continued almost boredly, as if delivering obvious information. “The Bleeding Effect in Desmond Miles’ mind is very unique. It brought my personality to the forefront.”

“...Haytham Kenway,” the man breathed reverently. 

“Now you’re getting it.” Finally, Haytham turned, a neat movement that somehow seemed too fluid to be entirely human. Pieter swallowed nervously and stepped closer to the door, because when he looked at the eyes he wanted to run. 

Desmond’s eyes were a soft gold, honey gold. And right now they were a steely blue grey. They were the color of Haytham’s eyes. _They had literally changed color along with his personality._

“Something the matter, Shay?” Haytham asked calmly. 

“I- I don’t- n- no. No. Nothing.” 

“Good. Then we can discuss. What, exactly, is it that the Templars are known for?” He began to slowly, methodically pace the tiny office turned jail cell.

“...Uh... Order?”

“Yeeeeees...” the word was drawn out, verging on sarcastic, stressing the importance. “What about this situation is orderly to you?” When Pieter looked crestfallen his steel blue-grey gaze hardened, like cracking slate. “I’m taking my leave of this place, and if you know how to avoid obtaining hospital records you’ll be wise not to follow me. Believe me when I tell you that _I will know_ if you do.” Something in the eyes flickered, a burning gold that didn’t quite match the eye color Pieter had seen in Desmond prior to this conversation, and he took several steps backward out into the hall. 

Haytham didn’t miss a beat, matching him step for step as they exited the room and not allowing him personal space. The chatter from the main seating area where the other Hunters were hanging out ceased abruptly, none of them quite willing to approach when the boldest of them was shaking in his shoes. Haytham walked straight out the front door without looking back. 

-/\\- 

Leaning against a dumpster, Haytham gasped for air and groaned. Oh, he’d talked a good game, but everything he’d said had hinged on the _unhinged_ mental state of their jailer and a high level of Shay Cormac in the man’s thoughts and actions. He’d gotten lucky. 

...Though, Shay had always said that they made their own luck...

Was it wrong to miss the man, when he was only the figment of mentally unstable imagination in an Assassin’s head? After all, Shay _had_ destroyed the Colonial Brotherhood practically all on his own...

_I wouldn’t worry about it,_ Altaïr said smoothly as Haytham caught his breath and began making his way back toward the gear. _I married a former Templar myself, and she caused many problems for me beforehand._

_That’s... true,_ Haytham mused, ignoring the snicker from Ezio at the comment. _Ah... Where is Desmond? I’d rather not be running this show if you don’t mind..._

_I left him wandering around the forests of my homeland in my memories for a long while. I think he is having trouble figuring out what to do about the Hunters, seeing as it’s difficult to send Assassin teams on assignment for us,_ Connor explained unconcernedly. _I can take over if you want._

_That would be wonderful, thank you._

The change was seamless, instantaneous almost, and Connor squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before continuing on, the conversation in his head progressing unabated. 

_That was inspired back there Haytham,_ Edward said approvingly. _Proud of you, son._

Soft, warm but awkward acceptance at this made Connor smile. His father was embarrassed by the praise. The smile faded when he noted a child gaping at him, and blinking he walked over to crouch down and be at eye level. The child seemed extremely fascinated by his eyes for some reason. 

“Can I help you?” He inquired patiently, tongue tripping slightly over the official country language of Arabic. He heard Altaïr tut disapprovingly somewhere in the back of his mind and ignored it.

“How did you get them to change color?” The boy asked, head tilting to the side as he studied the man before him. There wasn’t a hint of fear, only fascination.

“Change the color of what?”

“Your eyes.” He pointed at his own for emphasis. “First they were sort of bluish grey, and now they are dark like burned oak.” 

_That_ caught everyone’s attention, even Desmond, who had been ignoring them to do some deep thinking on their latest problem. 

“My eyes are gold,” Connor said carefully, swallowing as the boy shook his head adamantly in disagreement. 

“No, they were blue, and now they are burnt brown,” he insisted. 

_Switch with me,_ Edward demanded suddenly, all but shoving Connor out of the ‘driver’s seat.’ This got an awestruck smile out of the kid.

“Oh, now they’re like the ocean,” he commented appreciatively. 

A sickening feeling settled into Edward’s stomach and he stood quickly after muttering a short ‘I don’t know how they did that’ to the curious child, walking with swift purpose toward the Mega Mall and slipping into a clothing shop, making an excuse over a scarf without really looking at it so that he could slip into a changing room unhindered. His jaw dropped.

Peering out of Desmond’s facial features were his _own_ true eyes, a bright blue tinted green like the seas he had loved to sail upon. Connor tentatively took control again, all of them watching in rapt and disturbed fascination as the color shifted into a deep brown - as the boy had said - the color of burnt wood. 

There was slight jostling, as the others were suddenly eager to see a piece of themselves properly again, and the dark lightened into a soft golden brown. Not properly brown, not properly gold. Ezio. He was shoved out of the way by Haytham, whose steely blues were much sharper than their immediate predecessors, and these were replaced by Altaïr’s. Burning gold, like tiny suns, glared out at them from under the hood, and he inhaled a light breath.

As Desmond took proper control over his own form once again, the burning amber seemed to dim gently in a rich honey gold. He blinked several times, running his hand over his mouth, before releasing a short and unstable guffaw. 

“That- that’s not human,” he stammered, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down to sit against it on the floor, head in his hands as he fought off a panic attack.

_No, it is not,_ Ezio agreed. You could _hear_ the frown in it. _But I have to wonder if it has always been this way. I’ve noticed that those who speak with us tend to recognize which one of us is currently in control by making eye contact._

_I saw that too but didn’t think much of it,_ Haytham admitted. _I thought it had to do with our Eagle Vision, them somehow sensing which of us it was through that._

_Both are plausible explanations,_ Altaïr pointed out. _Desmond will simply have to ask Mavis when he returns. Since she knows all the other intimate details pertaining to our Precursor DNA Inheritance and the potential side effects it carries._

Desmond swore vehemently in a string of multi-lingual curses and his head fell silent.

_...Couldn’t have put it better myself,_ Edward muttered after he’d finished.

-/\\-

It was late in the evening when Mavis glanced up from her paperwork and nearly had a heart attack. 

Bedraggled, soaked by the thunderstorm outside, and entirely the worse for wear but oh so very alive, stood Desmond in front of her desk. 

“I need to get you a bell,” she muttered, hand at her heart willing it to slow again. 

“I need medical attention, and I’ve got a psychological question,” Desmond said flatly. 

“Are the two one and the same?”

“No. The psychological question has to do when I switch personalities. Uh... have my eyes ever changed color?” 

“...No...? Is there... is there a reason-“

“No, just curious.” Mavis rolled her eyes at the obvious lie but let it slide, resolving to watch. After his medical career more closely in the following months. “Yeah, of course. What medical attention do you need?” He hesitated before extending his left hand and Mavis’ eyes widened as she got a good look at at. “You’re missing a finger.” Stating the obvious. There wasn’t much else to say.

“Yeah. Sofia’s got some Assassin Hunters on the prowl,” Desmond sighed uncomfortably.

“That’s... new.”

“One of them thought it was poetic irony to torture me by cutting off my ring finger.” Desmond leaned over and pressed the ‘Call’ button on Mavis’ desk. After an awkward seven minutes, Jack came stumbling down the steps in froze when he saw them.

“Desmond? ...You’re missing a finger.”

“I’m gonna hear that a lot over the next few days, aren’t I?” Desmond sighed.

Desmond crept past the cracked doors of Charlie and Avery’s sleeping quarters in the communal living hub they shared as a family unit, slipping into his and Elijah’s sleeping quarters with a relieved sigh. He’d have to call a Council meeting in the morning, and then the entire Brotherhood would have to be told-

“I thought you were dead.” He froze, turning toward Elijah’s bed with a wince. The fourteen year old boy was sitting with his back straight, legs criss-crossed on his mattress, staring at the opposite wall. “I kept waiting for you to come back. Days. Then a couple of weeks. And you didn’t.”

“I ran into trouble,” Desmond admitted, sighing as he sat on the edge of his son’s bed and held up his efficiently-bandaged hand. Elijah’s eyes widened.

“You’re missing-“

“A finger, yeah. Hurt, too.” Uncomfortable silence settled into the room. “Elijah. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just... we’re both trying to figure this out, yeah? You’ve never had a dad before, and I... I’ve never _been_ a dad before. Can we try and be patient with each other? Because I might have the memories of my ancestors parenting their kids, but every single relationship was unique. I’m gonna mess up. I’m gonna let you down. But I’m _trying_ here, okay? It’s a period of adjustment.”

Elijah was barely fourteen years old, having turned it in early November, and in many ways he was still more child than teenager. The two aspects of his persona were split, easily recognizable from one another in mannerisms, and right at that moment he switched from aloof teenager to child again as he sniffed, swiped at his nose, and nodded before laying down on his mattress and curling his spine against Desmond’s leg seeking solid touch contact to let him know his dad was still there. 

“We’ll figure it out, bud. It’ll just take some time.” He sighed, letting the sympathies and concerns of his ancestors wash over and comfort him as he slowly began ruffling Elijah’s hair. “Promise.”

A/N: 

This note is in the actual text rather than the end notes because a first chapter end note seems to stick to the bottom of all chapters for some reason... that’s fine, I like to take advantage of that for my disclaimer. But I needed an end note here too.

As you can see, I was setting up key elements of the plot in the prologue and giving you guys an idea of what you can expect. Desmond and Elijah have some father-son relationship issues to work out, there’s a bunch of unstable Hunters after Vox Populi courtesy of Sofia Rikkin, who is really stepping up her vendetta, and then of course the ongoing internal dilemma for Desmond over not being entirely human anymore in a way that’s actually noticeable and affecting his life. 

I hope you’re all looking forward to this sequel, and you can expect the rest of the story to be published after I’ve played through Valhalla. I’ve got an idea where I want to go, and now I just need the finer details. 


	2. On the Concept of Free Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUYS!? Ubisoft? Made Vox Populi Desmond’s Personality? CANON?? I’m-
> 
> https://youtu.be/8AsIoBu5Dpc
> 
> https://youtu.be/PYH__CczF7w
> 
> Also: HAPPY VALHALLA RELEASE I AM SOOOO EXCITED!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special note about Aiden and Watch_Dogs: Legion...
> 
> Many of you may be aware that in 2021 Aiden will have some DLC with a dedicated story to it when the Season Pass releases. When it comes out I’ll review the content and decide what I want to do with it, and how to handle Darcy (who is apparently a Modern Assassin that you can play as part of the Legion DLC Season Pass). As I currently have no information on the matter nothing will yet be changing with Aiden’s involvement in the Vox Populi Order.

_ Late March, 2020 _

“Dad?” Elijah called softly. Desmond looked up from the paperwork on his desk and rubbed at his eyes. “It’s late.”

“I know,” Desmond groaned, sitting back in his chair. “I have to get these reports viewed before the weekend or else we’ll have to wait another month to make a supply run, and we’re in desperate need of medical equipment right now.”

“Want some help? Or... or some company?”

“Always.” There was a pause as Elijah grabbed a chair and dragged it over, sitting cross-legged and looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Something wrong?”

“What do you do when one of your ancestors gets control over your body?” The light chatter that had been running background diagnostics on the data in the reports abruptly ceased, the intense focus on the question asked causing Desmond to blink hard for a few moments as several people mentally regrouped.

“It’s... been a while since that’s happened accidentally,” he admitted. “It’s all about conscious choice.”

“Free will... yeah, I guess a head full of Master Assassins would be on board with that,” Elijah muttered bitterly.

“Elijah, why are you asking? Is this to do with your being a Sage?”

“Sometimes I feel things that... aren’t me,” Elijah confessed softly, refusing eye contact. “Think things. And it’s like there’s this other person inside of me, and he isn’t helpful. He’s... _evil._ Like... Seriously _messed up_. I was... hoping... that you could tell me how you took back control in the event that-“

“You’re worried Aita might take control one day and you won’t be able to stop it,” Desmond summarized, blowing out a breath when Elijah just nodded. “Yeah, okay. We need to have this conversation somewhere else. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Elijah asked curiously as he followed his father through the halls and down several flights of stairs. They stopped at the entrance to the Animus room and his eyes grew wide. “Oh. Um... I- I’ve never been inside of one of these. Before.”

“And I’m not asking you to.” Desmond paused to load up the white room and then slipped a neuro-transmitter against his temple, walking into the holographic space. Jackie and Charity were hard at work installing the holo-projectors throughout the entire Keep so that ancestors could attend tactical meetings, but at the moment they were still only working in that particular room. It wasn’t the comfiest of places but it was decent.

They both sat cross-legged in the center of the floor, opposite one another, and Elijah swallowed as six people shimmered into existence three on either side of them. They, too, sat cross-legged on the floor to form a circle. To his left were the Kenway trio, to his right Altaïr, Ezio, and Clay.

“Five of these people live inside my head, and the only reason Clay doesn’t is because he copied himself into the Animus system,” Desmond explained quietly. “Sometimes... sometimes it gets too overwhelming, and I come down here so we can talk outside of my mind. Like right now, for instance, when they’re all shouting at me trying to get me to tell you things or ask you questions. I thought it might help you to see my ancestors. _Our_ ancestors, El. And I think it’s time you got to know them.”

“Hi,” Elijah said shyly, ducking his head. When he spared a glance upward it was to find the entire group smiling at him in indulgent amusement. He ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. “Um...”

“It’s a bit awkward,” Altaïr conceded, which caused Edward to burst out laughing. “All right, extremely awkward.”

“No, really?” Haytham rolled his eyes and huffed through his nose. “Suffice it to say, Elijah, don’t be fooled by the legendary status history dubs us with. Altaïr couldn’t even swim.”

“What?” Elijah squeaked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“Haytham couldn’t climb trees,” Altaïr shot back petulantly.

“Yes. Well. Neither could Ezio.”

“I could!”

“Couldn’t,” Connor corrected mutinously.

“I could do _both_ ,” Edward boasted, ducking to avoid a smack upside the back of the head from Ezio.

“No one likes a showboat father,” Haytham muttered sourly. Elijah snuck a glance across the room and locked gazes with Desmond, who was actually biting his knuckle to keep from laughing as his eyes danced with mischievous amusement.

That was the point, Elijah suddenly realized. Desmond wanted him to see that, no matter the pedigree, everybody was just... Human. Fallible, with their own unique personality quirks and foibles, all of them approachable and that especially applied for Elijah. Clay was the only one that hadn’t said anything yet, and when Elijah looked over at him he found that the man was watching him with a sympathetic understanding that sent shivers down his spine. This man _understood him._ And unlike the others, Elijah could come down to the Animus and talk to him at any time when he needed to.

“Seriously though kid, ask us anything,” Edward said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Count me in that too,” Desmond added. “And Clay.” Elijah bit his lip as he mentally drew up the list of questions he had, nodding. And boy, were there a lot of things he wanted answers to.

They stayed up talking long into the early morning before Elijah became too tired to continue, and as he trudged off to bed Desmond suppressed a groan and went back to the expenditure reports. He was going to pay for it but it had been worth the price.

-/\\-

“Why do you have Charlie train me like an Assassin if you don’t plan on making me one?” Elijah asked later that week. He’d been doing that, just outright asking questions at odd moments as if they had only just occurred to him and he needed the answer immediately.

“Who said you wouldn’t be?” Desmond mumbled around his toothbrush, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. With the sheer amount of foam he’d generated it looked like he had spearmint rabies. “It’s all up to you you know, El. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“...What?” Desmond retreated back into the bathroom and spit the toothpaste out before returning.

“It’s your _choice_ , Elijah. I know that that’s a new concept for you, but still. The reason I’m training you isn’t so that you can become an Assassin. It’s so that you can be informed and use that knowledge to protect yourself if you decide to go out into the world to become your own person. Someone who, by the way, will always be welcome in Masyaf whether or not he wears a peaked hood. And, hey. If you try the civilian thing and decide it’s not for you, it’s never too late to become an Initiate and train to be an Assassin.”

“I decide now.”

“Give it a few years, kid. Let’s... let’s say sixteen, huh? That’s when I knew what was and wasn’t for me. It’s a decent age too.”

“You came back to the Assassins though,” Elijah reminded him dubiously with a raised eyebrow. Desmond rolled his eyes and huffed.

“I came back because it felt right, El. It was my _choice._ I mean, the kidnapping thing definitely wasn’t. But Lucy didn’t make me stay. She gave me the option to leave, even though it would have hurt the Assassin cause. She was a Templar sleeper agent. It would have hurt _both_ causes. I think... I think her giving me the choice, of deciding to convince me rather than telling me I had to help... I think in her own way that was her apology for Clay.”

“If you’d left Abstergo would have caught you again, so there really wasn’t a choice, just the illusion of one,” Elijah argued stubbornly.

“The only reason I got caught the first time, after _nine years_ of evading Assassins and Templars both, was that I got a motorcycle license, and Lucy knew that,” Desmond said patiently. “I could have disappeared without a trace if I’d wanted. I knew what kinds of people to pay for human smuggling, how to ask for burn phones. I knew not to leave a digital footprint. Even before I had the memories of Master Assassins to help me, I would have made it on my own.” There was a sincerity and conviction in his voice that Elijah couldn’t contradict. It was downright unshakeable. “What do _you_ want, Elijah? Huh? That’s what you need to ask yourself. You have the freedom to actually give an answer.”

Desmond laid a hand on Elijah’s shoulder and began walking back to the bathroom to use the mouthwash.

“Ice cream.” He stopped and turning in surprise.

“...What?” Elijah buried his face against his shoulder and toed the floor with a shoe, embarrassed.

“I... I want ice cream.” Desmond’s face split into a wide grin.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

The pair wandered down to the kitchens on light feet, slipping past a guilty Devon with his fingers in a jar of peanut butter, and Desmond raided the freezer while Elijah got out the bowls and spoons. Tasty treat acquired, they went outside and climbed the ramparts to sit on the wall with their legs swinging freely over the drop.

“This is awesome,” Elijah decided after a short while, licking the spoon and grinning. The grin faded a little. “I just wish mom were here, sometimes. With the both of us.”

“It’s been so long since I saw your mom,” Desmond admitted truthfully. “We weren’t even together anymore when she told me she was pregnant. But... We would’ve made it work, I think. I mean. We wouldn’t have been _together_ together or anything, no, we split up for very good reasons, but it was a mutually agreed upon split. We could’ve been really great friends eventually. Probably around your third birthday or something.”

Elijah outright _giggled_ , a sound reserved only when he was truly relaxed, and took another bite of his ice cream.

“It’s... weird that it feels so normal. Like, there’s just the two of us, but I _know_ there’s more people listening in?” He explained lamely. “And it feels normal. Like. They _should_ be there. Even... even Aita, as weird as that sounds, you know? I’ve never known anything other than being a Sage with other people’s voices and opinions in my head. Or maybe it only makes sense to me.” He shrugged. “Used to being the only Isu weirdo around.”

Desmond hesitated a few moments before taking a deep breath and turning to face him.

“Elijah, you’re really, really not,” he began nervously. Elijah blinked and looked at him. “There’s... something going on with me, and quite honestly it terrifies me. And all my ancestors. But... look, I haven’t even told _Mavis_ about this yet, and she looks after everyone’s health, so this is just between us, okay?”

“Okay...”

“You can’t even tell Charlie yet. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Elijah nodded, brow furrowing in worry. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“It’s... it’s easier to show you,” he muttered. “Just... watch my eyes, okay?”

“...Watching.” Elijah’s jaw went slack as the color shifted from the familiar and safe honey gold into Caribbean blue. “What...?”

“My eyes have started changing color to match my ancestor when they take the driver’s seat,” Edward’s voice said. It emanated from Desmond’s mouth, but it definitely wasn’t Desmond’s voice inflected by Edward’s accent. It was an entire other _person’s_ voice altogether.

“...Yeah, your eyes aren’t the only thing that changes,” Elijah stuttered. “Your voice does too. You sound like you did when I talked to you in the Animus.” Edward blinked, startled, and suddenly the honey gold was back as Desmond’s posture tensed.

“...That explains why Haytham’s little stunt was so effective,” he muttered, shaking out his shoulders and making an effort to relax as he sighed heavily and took several controlled deep breaths. “Add it to the list of weird crap going on I guess.”

“You should really get tested,” Elijah said with only mild concern as he went back to digging around in his ice cream bowl. Desmond raised an eyebrow.

“Your deep and inconsolable worry is extremely touching.” That elicited a shrug and a smirk.

“Yeah, well, my eyes glow in the dark when you shine a flashlight on ‘em. You want to make this a competition, I can go all night.”

“You get your sass from your mom,” Desmond retorted, only slightly surprised when his pants didn’t catch fire at the bold-faced lie. He went back to eating his ice cream as well. What else was there to do? He could worry about what was going on, and talk with Mavis, and by the time she yelled at him and threatened to render him incapable of producing any more progeny for waking her up at three in the morning the ice cream would have melted.

It was always best to be practical about these kinds of things, he found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a tad short, but I’m just really excited for Valhalla and posting some Dadmond fic helped calm me down somewhat. Yes, you read that right. Dadmond. Dadmond Miles.


	3. Apocalypse Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is currently 10:00AM on December 24th of 2020 as I post this. For those that celebrate Christmas as I do, Merry Christmas. For those that do not, have a Happy Holiday Season. And, everybody, please, stay safe out there!
> 
> This kind of goes without saying, but from here on in there’ll be spoilers for Valhalla. You’ve been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I like to call “the outside world catch up chapter as I update things for Valhalla.”
> 
> Additionally, for those of you who have played Valhalla... the opening scene may look... familiar. That was actually... NOT intentional?? I wrote it BEFORE playing the sequence in question. And then yourlocalbirb sent me a video segment of that scene as I hadn’t gotten there yet and Uh. There was hysteria involved. 
> 
> *cough* Anyway...

_Fog curled like a soft, thick cushion at his feet as he stood in the center of a crumbling tower. Circular, with white lines glowing out of the sheer surface matching the scar on his hand and arm as they pulsed their own electric signals in perfect tandem, the light they cast evanescent and the world dim._

_The tower seemed to stretch forever, like a deep well, no windows nor doors but the roofless top that perfectly encapsulated a sun in total solar eclipse. The edges of the tower were covered in spikes facing the sun, glinting wetly in the strange light and seemingly curved toward the dark disc. Like an iron-studded collar they ringed the eclipse, and around the eclipse a storm raged._

_The sky seemed to undulate light dark ocean waves, the clouds that suddenly burst forth and disappeared again in the gathering darkness of a full squall like seafoam. Keys floated in the air, swirling lazily ever upward, as if the world had been inverted and the sky was the sea and the land was the sky. Many of the keys were dull, bent, and rusted. They had been discarded for many years, useless. Others still were being shaped, hot red and cooling before being discarded as well, like failed attempts cast aside. Still others were yet unformed, their shape liquid and unset, endless possibilities not yet tried to fit the intended lock._

_Three stars appeared, burning brightly in the black clouds, and as they approached the eclipsed sun they began to revolve around it in a ceaseless circle that spun faster and faster as a fierce wind sprang up, and his heart quickened in anticipation as he felt sands in some form of internal hourglass denote the limited time before conclusion._

_He leapt out of the way as lightning sprang from the fog he was standing in, a roar of thunder shaking the entire tower as the bolt arced upward and out, its tendrils of white electricity reaching like branches toward the eclipsing sun. One of the stars fell from its orbit, falling toward the tower, and in panic he felt the need to catch it. He strained his wings and cried out in pain; waxen, burnt by the heat of the lightning, they seared the flesh of his shoulders and hung useless from his person._

_The star must be saved and returned to the triad._

_Using the circuit board carved into the walls of the tower, he began to climb and meet it._

_ May 04th, 2020_

Desmond jolted awake with a soft cry, one hand braced on the bed and the other pressed against his rib cage as he concentrated on steadying his breathing.

_That was unnerving,_ Altaïr rasped, emotional presence interpreted only as ‘ruffled.’ _We have strange dreams, but that one..._

_Stranger than usual,_ Ezio agreed, a mental shudder accompanying his words. He was more prone than most of them to traumatic nightmares due to seeing the majority of his family executed at such a young age, Petruccio’s small form most often presenting itself hanging from a tree on multiple occasions without warning. Not that the rest of them were free of such terrors, but Ezio was a more vulnerable soul than he appeared to be and quite honestly the few occasions that Desmond had subconsciously pulled out Clay’s memories and had them all re-experience his suicide topped the nightshade cake like a bright red mistletoe berry on a bed of aconite foam.

_Somebody own up,_ Desmond muttered as he rose to a stand and padded noiselessly toward the shared ensuite his family unit collectively used. _Which one of your twisted psyches thought that monstrosity up, because it sure as Hell wasn’t me._

_Nor me_ , Haytham chirped quietly as Desmond lathered shaving cream and applied it generously to his face. _And to be quite honest I don’t ever want to experience something like that ever again._

_It was like a vision,_ Connor suggested. _I think we-_

_As if,_ Edward scoffed. There was a pause as he regrouped. _That came off wrong. I’m... stressed._

_We share the same mind. I’m well aware._

_Can you just let me apologize. I don’t do it that often. Appreciate the miracle. Look. What I’m trying to say is that... well. We’ve all seen some things, between the six of us. Well. I suppose seven. If you count Clay’s memories. And as Assassins and a Templar, none of us ascribe to the idea of a higher power all too much. When you say it was a vision, you mean- what? That it was a portent or something? Doesn’t that go against the very notion of free will_ or _the Templar adherence to self-determination?_

_It was Juno that set me upon the path of becoming an Assassin, Minerva’s message that guided Ezio’s steps, and the Apple which opened Altaïr to so many futuristic concepts which aided Ezio’s quest to Minerva,_ Connor argued. _If you had not met Aita in the form of the Sage Bartholomew Roberts and had your eyes opened to wonders at the Observatory, you would never have been able to take the final step to becoming an Assassin. To researching the Temple in your journal, to being killed for it so that Haytham could be a Templar and one day come to my homeland searching for the Key and meeting my mother. I would not have been able to safeguard that key. Ezio’s Apple would not have opened the outer doors. All of this, orchestrated by the Triad, so that Desmond could be where he needed to be when he needed to be. How is that not the work of a higher power? They used methods we do not understand to achieve it._

“I’m trying to shave here,” Desmond whined aloud, wetting the edge of his shaving knife. He’d grown so used to using naught but a tiny hunting blade on the run from Abstergo and some habits died hard, especially with similar instances occurring for his ancestors. “I’d like to _not_ make a matching scar on the left side of my mouth because you were distracting me. None of us would find that a fun experience.”

There was a split moment of petulant silence, during which he could all but _hear_ them scowling at him like chastised teenagers.

_Well. At least you wouldn’t be my carbon copy then,_ Altaïr sniffed. _How unoriginal of you, stealing someone else’s... well. Everything._

“What are you, the fashion police? Newsflash Gramps, we’ve gone past dresses. Get with the times.”

_Robed tunics with Tabards._

“Whatever.”

“Hey dad? If um, if you’re done arguing with somebody, could you Uh... come look at something real quick?” Elijah asked hesitantly. Desmond sighed, the shaving knife just about to touch down, and looked into the mirror. It was his version of exchanging an exasperated look with his ancestors.

“I’m shaving, El. How important is it?”

“Um... I think. I think that uh. That the um. What. What exactly did the end of the world look like eight years ago?”

Desmond blinked several times, the equivalent of an ‘Error 404 - Page Not Found’ message running through his head, before he leant out the doorway to peer through the open windows of the room beyond. His hands found the doorframe as the entire Keep shook, a massive flaming ball of _something_ \- most likely a satellite or debris - shooting past that actually had its heat felt faintly through the open window. Another tremor, this one far more powerful, shook the Keep and he yelped as he clung to the doorframe more tightly. When it died down, he took a good long moment to stare at the sky.

For the past year the weather patterns had become increasingly erratic, the Earth’s magnetic fields increasing at the poles and disrupting everything to do with climate, changing the color of the sky from a nice light bright blue in a slow and gradual alteration into its current golden-orange coloring.

...That Aurora Borealis had definitely never been there before. Was it even an Aurora Borealis if it wasn’t near the North Pole?

“Well,” Desmond began with a benign casualty he most certainly was _not_ feeling as he packed his shaving kit away and wiped the cream from the stubble of his face, “guess I won’t be needing _that_ then.”

-/\\-

“Rebecca! Rebecca, you need to look outside!” Shaun urged, running into their bedroom. Rebecca groaned, rolling over and burying her head under his pillow.

“Go away, it’s early,” she whimpered. A few moments later she yelped in surprise as Shaun jumped onto the unoccupied spot at the end of the bed and began jumping up and down like a small child, an act which had her sitting bolt upright to stare at him in shock.

Jumping. Up and down. Hysterical. On their bed. Fully dressed, glasses about ready to fall off his face, wearing...

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed.

“Shaun, if you want our baby to have a father, get your dirty shoes off of our sheets,” she warned, voice low. The bouncing ceased immediately, but he just continued to stand there with his head cocked slightly to the side.

“But you’re not pregnant yet. You just had your monthly, in fact.”

“Yeah, and I won’t _get_ pregnant if I have to kill my husband for tracking gravel and mud onto our bed. Got it?”

“...Ah. Just.” He hopped off the bed and pulled up the blinds, making her wince and shield her eyes from the sunlight with her arm. “Just. Look outside.” Grumbling, Rebecca followed him over to the window and peered outside. Her jaw dropped. Without another word, she walked into the tiny living room and picked up her phone.

“What are you doing?” Shaun asked, trailing after.

“I need to cancel my black market hair appointment.”

-/\\-

_ Flashback, December 19th, 2012_

_“Gotta say, for the end of the world, it’s kinda... nice,” Rebecca muttered, leaning sleepily against Shaun’s shoulder. She smacked Desmond’s arm when he snickered at her. “Shut it you.”_

_“You just said we were having a nice apocalypse,” Desmond giggled, swaying dangerously back and forth as he tried to maintain equilibrium and failing, settling for flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling of the ruined Grand Temple cave entrance they’d found themselves in._

_All three of them had taken the opportunity, with Bill being away in New York for the day tying up loose ends for a different team, to relax a bit. They couldn’t get farther in the progression of Connor’s memories without Bill being present - his rules not theirs - and a hefty amount of cabin fever had been building up inside. So, taking with them a bottle of stolen gas station liquor, they’d ascended to the overworld to watch the sun set and get absolutely plastered, sitting just enough inside the cave to not get wet from the soft snow that had greeted them instead of the clear red sky they’d been expecting._

_“I don’t think this is the apocalypse,” Shaun declared, taking a swig of the bottle and then passing it over to Rebecca, repeating the action they had been doing all early evening. “We’ll stop it. I know we will. There’s something in Connor’s memories we need to find, and once we do, we can use whatever tech gizmo the- goddy uh- people- left behind to save the world. Easy-Peasy.”_

_“You really think so?” Desmond asked softly. His clouded gaze had cleared somewhat as his mood soured, staring up reflectively at the cave ceiling, and when Rebecca offered the bottle he passed. “I don’t know. It’s... all kinda on me. And that’s terrifying.” He blinked, sniffing, and turned his head to look at Shaun and Rebecca. “You really think I can do it?”_

_“Absa-posit-lutely,” Rebecca replied. “We’re a team right? Come on. Shaun and I are backing you up. It’ll be fine. Can’t do. Nothing. We can’t.” She paused and collected her thoughts before continuing. “There’s nothing we can’t do together. I’m brilliant, you’re brilliant, Shaun’s acceptable-“_

_“Oi!”_

_“-And we’ve got hope. I know that sounds stupid but it goes a long way toward being able to get something done. If you don’t think you can, then you won’t.”_

_“Who are you, Santa’s Life Coach?” Shaun groused. “Look, Desmond. It’s simple as this. Right here, right now, we make a pact. A- an Apocapact. If it really looks like the world’s about to end, the both of us will stop shaving.”_

_“I could grow my hair out,” Rebecca suggested, leaning away from Shaun and pressing her back into the cave wall instead._

_“Yeah. Because, let’s be honest. If the world’s ending, who has time for proper hair maintenance anyways?”_

_“Very true,” Desmond conceded, grinning as he heaved himself into a sitting position and propped his chin on a hand, elbow propped on a crossed knee. “What about Ol’ Doom and Gloom?”_

_“He’s already got a beard,” Shaun said dismissively. After a few seconds they all burst out laughing. “That wasn’t what you meant, was it?”_

_“Nope. But I like your answer better than the one I was looking for.” Attempting to get up, he tripped on an untied shoelace and fell back onto his rear with a grunt. “Ow. Non fanno più scarpe comode.”_

_“Say again, mate?” Shaun asked, blinking in surprise as Rebecca choked on her swig of the all but empty bottle._

_“Nothing,” Desmond muttered, glaring at his shoe with distaste and smacking the side of his head in irritation. “Stupid alcohol and brain blenders don’t really mix.”_

_“Baby isn’t a brain blender!” Rebecca protested. “You’re just being mean now. I don’t think I like drunk you very much.”_

_“In Desmond’s defense he_ is _having trouble speaking English this evening,” Shaun interrupted calmly. “Alcohol aside that shouldn’t exactly be happened. Happening. H- whatever.” He took a swig from the bottle and then frowned, tipping it upside down and then sighing. “Pity. Not even half-sloshed, the lot of us. The whole point was that we were coming up here to drown our sorrows.”_

_“Considering what would have happened if my dad came back tomorrow and found us all passed out...”_

_“Yup. Wouldn’t want to get on Billiam’s bad side.” Rebecca blinked. “Did I just say ‘Billiam?’”_

_“We should probably call it a night,” Desmond said with a yawn. He leant back against the curve of the rock and sighed contentedly. “But... I just wanna watch the snow fall for a while. It’s nice. You’re right, Rebecca. It’s a very nice apocalypse.”_

_“...Yeah, it is.”_

-/\\-

_ May 04th, 2020_

Shaun stared into the mirror and sighed, eyeing his shaving kit with a grimace and packing it away in the very bottom of his bag. As of two days ago, Bill had given them an assignment working with Layla Hassan on locating the source of the magnetic field. Now, what had been considered ‘trivial magnetic storms’ by most media networks was a big deal. He had been busy making arrangements for a safe house - more of a shack, really, though both Shaun and Rebecca had personally experienced far worse - at the coordinates given in a strange message, and apparently it was Layla that they needed and her Animus to get things done.

The problem was that Layla had killed one of her teammates at the entrance to Atlantis with the Staff of Hermès Trismegistus due to some sort of PoE-induced emotional snap. Which Bill had pointed out was _also_ something they had experience with. Quite literally, he told them that they were his last option because no one else would work with her. He told them she was being outfitted with an emotional inhibitor chip and that it would suppress such things. And that the artifact in question - which she was apparently not supposed to be separated from - was in a specially-sealed containment unit. Overall, not exactly encouraging.

Shaun and Rebecca had retired from the more active aspects of Assassin duties, not out of any sort of intent to do so, but because Bill had sidelined them for getting on his bad side. Their relationship had only deteriorated further with his repressed attitude toward finding Elijah as a Sage first and a grandson second, and combining that with their interest in monitoring the new Vox Populi group and quietly - very quietly - taking special interest in the group’s apparent leader led to a general rift. The quiet job title change for the leader of the Assassin Order from ‘Mentor’ to ‘Grand Master’ had further set off some alarm bells that made them want to keep a natural distance, and refusing to call him that seemed to spout a less than professional annoyance.

Now Bill was giving them the job no one wanted. They could refuse, of course. But truth was, they owed it to Desmond’s sacrifice in 2012 to figure out what was currently going on with the planet. And of course Bill knew it was a soft spot for them, a weakness he could exploit into manipulating them into saying yes. He didn’t even have to get out the screws to start turning them. The very idea of sitting idly by in such a situation was guilt enough.

So now they were packing their duffels and headed off to an undisclosed location - the address of which they would not be receiving until they got to Boston - and leaving their little cash deposit only apartment locked up nice and snug. Layla would already be waiting for them there, having gotten a head start and discovering buried remains on the behest of the message they’d been given to extract DNA samples from for her Animus.

“This sit right with you?” Rebecca called softly from the doorway. Shaun sighed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, and turned around to zip up the duffel after having gathered the necessary items from the bathroom. He sat heavily on the edge of the tub, taking off his glasses and rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his thumb. A few moments later Rebecca sat beside him, leaning against his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“You ever regret certain parts of your life but know you’d do the exact same thing if you got a chance to do them over again?” He asked quietly, breaking the silence. “I couldn’t see myself doing anything else in my life than what we do. And I chose that, I did. You found me, doing what I loved doing, and showed me a better way of going about it. But... we’ve lost so many people in this fight, more and more teams going dark every week. Used to be a team a year, then a team a month... now a week. How many of us are left to lose, Becs? When will our team be next?”

“We lost our team a long time ago,” Rebecca muttered sourly. “And we just keep temping now.”

“Glad you said it first,” Shaun breathed on a hefty exhale. “Cause I’ve been thinking it for ages but didn’t want to say anything.”

“You, not say anything? I’m shocked. That’s not like you.”

“On some things, Becs. You know that. Some things... I just can’t say.” He sniffed, making an effort to straighten up and get on with the packing. “Come on. Bill’ll have a conniption if we’re late. And we don’t want him actively plotting our disappearance or something.” Rebecca flashed him a weak smile and stood as well, tossing her toothbrush into a travel kit and tossing the kit into her duffel.

“Right, Mr. Hastings. Time to save the world again.”

“For the second time. Think there’s an analogy in there somewhere for parenting.”

“Well then we’re screwed.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

-/\\-

“ _Everybody! Calm! Down!_ ” Desmond shouted, leaning over the stone bannister railing of the main courtyard entrance to address his little community standing in the courtyard. The ruckus and panic over the sky abruptly subsided and he suppressed a sigh as all eyes turned towards him. The first twenty-five years of his life spent keeping his head down, and here he was the center of attention... that little panic attack never really subsided, even five years after waking up from his coma. “Look, I know it’s absolutely terrifying. But we _don’t know anything yet_. So, please. Until we _do_ know that the world’s ending, we’re gonna keep acting like it’s supposed to go on spinning. Got it?”

“Not all of us have lived through the apocalypse before Des!” Cal called. There wasn’t any malice in it, just a simple concern for the scared faces in the sea of people around him. He began wading through them to get to Desmond, leaning his arms on the bannister from the opposite side, lowering his voice to a whisper. “We need to keep them busy. Give them something to do.”

“And right here, right now, I’ve never been prouder of you,” Desmond sighed gratefully, patting him on the shoulder and addressing the assembly again. “I’m calling a Council meeting, and I want our Erudito team to get up to any type of shenanigans they think will get them any information on what’s going on. The rest of you should go about your chores. The Keep still needs a lot of work to be properly functioning for our needs, and with the sky looking like that I’m sure you can find trouble in the nearby area to resolve. Aiden, Devon, I want you to take a team out to that satellite tomorrow to see what’s going on once things have cooled a bit. Now come on, guys! Let’s get back to work!”

_Well-handled,_ Altaïr said approvingly, warmth resonating through the statement. _Of course, if the world really_ is _ending, that will be another problem entirely._

_Don’t remind me. We’ll cross that bridge if we actually have to._

_It’s good to be prepared, but in this instance I feel all it would do is make you worry,_ Haytham sighed. Desmond involuntarily looked toward the sky. _Why does the end of the world have to look so beautiful? Earthquakes and satellites aside, of course._

_Naturally_.

_Sarcasm. I’m proud._

“Charlie? Do you think you could-“ Desmond froze as he rounded the steps toward the tactical table, where Altaïr’s desk had once been, and blinked. Charlie stood there, wearing... “Is that a uh, that’s um.”

“You like?” Charlie asked as the ancestors dissolved into snickers, holding out his tee shirt for inspection. The words ‘Mavis is my Spirit Animal’ were emblazoned on them in shining sequin.

“...Was that Bedazzled on?”

“Yep! Want one?”

“...Charlie, we’re in the middle of the Apocalypse.” Charlie blinked, his smile dropping instantly, as he turned and looked out the window and drew in a sharp breath before turning back to Desmond.

“...I had the night shift and um. Mixed Red Bull with NyQuil for my um. My flu sore throat and cough.”

“...”

“...I didn’t even notice it was almost noon. Starting to think mixing those was a very not good idea.”

“Ya think!?”

“Um.” Charlie scratched at an ear. “You wanted something.” Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled before nodding.

“Yeah. Could you pull up the map of Precursor Site locations that we extracted from Altaïr’s memories of the Apple World Map? I want to see where our next expedition is going.”

“You leading that yourself?”

“I thought that you could take Cal and your old recovery team. Things being the way they are, I shouldn’t stray too far from home right now so that it looks like there’s some semblance of control.”

“Understandable...” Charlie zeroed in on the West Coast of North America and nodded at the glowing dot in question. “There we are. Upper Washington State, near the Canadian Border.”

“...As in, the spot where the Murder Hornets showed up last December?” Desmond asked uneasily. Charlie sighed, shoulders slumping, defeated.

“So we’ll be going in beekeeper outfits. I’ll ask Charity to at least make them look nice...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need a Latin Translation for “World on Fire” if anyone is willing as well as "Arkangel". Gentle reminder I don’t speak Italian so if the below translation has issues comment and I’ll edit for the correct translation...
> 
> Non fanno più scarpe comode - Italian; They don’t make convenient shoes anymore.
> 
> Also, if you don’t mind a Valhalla spoiler:  
> https://ask-the-almighty-google.tumblr.com/post/634793121194115072/all-i-can-say-is-read-the-codex-entries-in
> 
> Um... WHAT!? Anyway... Yeah, that character aspect and relationship thing is definitely getting brought up like. As of this chapter and beyond because. Wow.
> 
> In regards to Bill and the title of “Grand Master” he was off-handedly addressed by that title in an email from another colleague you can read on Layla’s computer in Valhalla’s MD. 
> 
> Did I come up with the idea of an Apocapact to explain away bad character designs for Shaun and Rebecca? Yes. Yes I did.


	4. The Honey and the Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, this monster was almost 7,500 words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m changing the format slightly for just this posting because this chapter has a lot of switching (and important) PoVs in it, so I’m just going to tell you guys which POV you are currently reading when the chapter breaks come up.

_ May 07, 2020 _

** ELIJAH’S POV**

It was always interesting living in Masyaf. The day began with a set of chimes ringing clearly through the Keep over the speaker system, rung by the resident former Marine - being Archie, coincidentally, which leant itself to some absolutely hilarious instances because Avery was _not_ a morning person and you could hear her complaining over the PA - and everyone rose with the sun. This was more of a life choice than a strict rule, however. As long as people got their tasks done before they turned in for the evening they generally could wake up whenever they wanted, but it had been ingrained into their ancestors to rise early and most followed that example.

Like Desmond, for instance, who had hated dawn runs as a teen but now scaled a tower every sunrise before breakfast out of Animus-ingrained habit.

This morning was no different. Elijah groaned as the chimes rang softly but insistently throughout the Keep, heaved himself out of bed, received a distracted hair ruffle from his dad that any other teenager would be annoyed at but he appreciated for the simple effort of paternal affection it conveyed as they worked their relationship out, and went to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. As always, his hair was a rat’s nest - made worse by the hair ruffling - and he looked like the walking dead.

_Binding yourself to the monotony of human routine,_ Aita sighed, tutting. Elijah rolled his eyes and ignored him, as per usual, as he stuck a toothbrush with spearmint toothpaste into his mouth and brushed. He ignored him on a daily basis. Ignored every little comment he made, and unless it was a life or death situation he even did so when the information was uncharacteristically helpful. Which, generally, it wasn’t. Being in an environment where most everyone had a tiny voice in the back of their head that wasn’t theirs helped normalize this daily process and ignore Aita. This had been such a long-established routine that Aita rarely bothered speaking to him anymore, though Elijah was well aware of his general mood and the fact that he was always listening in.

After a quick run and a shower, he settled himself in one of the many kitchens on an island stool and hunched over a bowl of cereal. Narrowed eyes watched Charlie bustle distractedly about the space like a hummingbird, flitting from toaster to stove to glass cupboard and somehow managing not to set any fire alarms off in the process. There was an efficient grace inside the whirlwind of chaos that was stunning to witness in the fluidity of the movement, and Elijah could see why he was earmarked to be his future field mentor should he decide to become an Assassin.

The idea held appeal. This community was welcoming of him, accepting, and to them he was just another one of the pack rather than the weirdo with the mental disorder (as he had been in school) or the Sage. He was an individual among other individuals who were as close to being like him as anyone could possibly be. Realistically, he couldn’t survive in the civilian world without Assassin training. Just trying to avoid either side would be a nightmare without those skills. Aita was a scientist, and the jumbled half-remembered wisps of memory he got from past Sages wasn’t enough stock of knowledge to rely on.

So, Assassin it was then. Two years’ time, when he turned sixteen, he’d choose the path of the Assassin. However, no one ever said he couldn’t take an interest in anything else...

Ever increasingly over the past few months he’d been with Vox Populi he had been continually drawn to the Erudito Enclave operating out of the dungeons - who were extremely happy with their aesthetic thank you very much - and the technology they were working with. The holographic transmissions system they were linking to their wi-fi enabled Animus with projectors all over the Keep had been reverse-engineered off of an Apple of Eden into a completely new format. From scratch code, hardware, all of it. Animus technology adapted to heal psychological injury rather than cause it. The sheer amount of research being carried out was more than enough to pique Elijah’s interest, and with a somewhat reluctant thanks towards the part of him that was Aita he had a great talent for it.

“You think my dad would let me do a dual study with you and Erudito?” Elijah asked. The unexpected question made Charlie jump slightly before he regained his composure and shrugged.

“Kid, if there’s anyone who’d be supportive of you chasing your interests, it’d be your dad.” He leant against the counter and dipped his toast into his oatmeal after pouring apple juice in it. Upon seeing Elijah’s wrinkled nose of disgust he laughed. “Hey, I’m not asking anyone else to eat it. But I know what I like and it’s toast-dipped apple juice oatmeal.”

“I’m not sure you’re the best instructor for me,” Elijah muttered. “There are just some things you shouldn’t do to a bowl of perfectly good oatmeal.”

“Ah yes, the age-old pineapple on pizza debacle,” Charlie replied sagely, taking a large spoonful of his breakfast.

“Pineapple is good on pizza,” Elijah defended. Charlie frowned at him and leant back on his stool.

“You’re right, I don’t think this partnership is going to go well. Pineapple on a pizza. Sacrilegious.”

“Add a little bit of ham,” Desmond suggested as he walked in and poured himself a glass of milk. “You get a really nice glaze.”

“Must be a genetic flaw,” Charlie sniffed.

“Right, because whatever it is you’re eating isn’t controversial either.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“You have five people in my head laughing at you.” Desmond sat beside Elijah and grabbed the cereal box. “What do we got here? ...Eh, it’s food.”

“It tastes like soggy cardboard, just so you know,” Elijah warned with a shrug. He slurped up a spoonful before meeting Charlie’s gaze across the island counter and nodding slightly. “Hey, dad?”

“Mm?”

“I was wondering if I could uh. If I could study with Erudito? Like. Along with Assassin training? I just, I really like the tech stuff they’re doing...”

“Yeah, sure, I don’t see why not.” Desmond eyed him over for a few seconds and blinked. “You think that decision will change in the next two years?”

“Nuh uh. Um... I’m smart enough to realize I wouldn’t last a day as a Civ without proper training considering what I am to both sides. I just... wanna do something else too.”

“Mm...” after a few moments of silence, Desmond seemed to come to a decision over something. Elijah was by now familiar enough with his dad’s mannerisms to know when a debate was going on with everyone else inside his head. “You can start training as soon as you want. But.” He pointed a finger at Charlie. “Not for this Washington State mission. Not without prior experience with those hunters around.”

“Like I’d want to walk around an Isu temple filled with murder hornets anyway,” Elijah snorted. He stood from his seat and rinsed his bowl in the sink, accepting the obligatory hair ruffle from Desmond as he did so as the proto-expression of familial affection that it was, and then headed down to Erudito to have a word with Charity and Diana.

Both women were in the middle of a mess of wires and equipment when he found them, flat on the floor and covered in grease and oil. Mild electrical burns covered Charity’s left arm and singed Diana’s sweater sleeve, and Elijah didn’t bother to stifle his laughter as he hovered by the door.

“Fighting you?” He called, feeling somewhat mischievous. Charity quickly pulled herself out into the open to get a look at him, hair an absolutely terrifying mess, and shook an industrial gloved finger at him.

“This system is proving a lot more difficult than we thought it would be,” she retorted. “Trying to incorporate a filter for particle solidity into the projectors when we have no idea how to make holograms solid is a real pain, but the last thing I want is to have to redo all this stuff. Making it possible so that we can just software patch it would be awesome.”

“Include a parameter to adjust the light density of the photons,” Elijah suggested.

“Beg pardon?” Diana asked, finally joining their conversation. “I thought the best way to create solid holograms was with high frequency of movement in the-”

“Not sustainable for what you want. If you take a look at an Isu hologram, like with the Apple, it actually adjusts density of the light particles being dispersed.” The two women exchanged an awkward look.

“Ehm... we can’t actually get it to work without somebody doing it for us, and the only person who can get those things to work the way they’re supposed to is Desmond,” Charity explained, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. Elijah shrugged, walking over to the isolation chamber their Apple was being kept in and lifting it out.

“And me. Lucky for you guys I got clearance to do a dual study with you.”

“Oh, I like that,” Charity chuckled. Diana smirked and nodded, and they both watched in wary fascination as Elijah concentrated his focus to expertly work the artifact.

_Always fear, your kind’s reaction to our tools,_ Aita snickered as the projection system came on.

_Considering Apples were used to control the minds of your slave labor force- which was us- are you really surprised?_

_No. But fear prevents full utilization. If you cannot harmonize with the object you cannot properly wield it._

_My dad seems to do just fine with it despite being gun-shy._ There was a long period of tense silence as Charity and Diana studied the artifact and occasionally asked him to try different things out with it as they took notes and made diagrams. _What?_

_Your father scares me,_ Aita said in a rare moment of total honesty. Elijah blinked.

_Come again?_

_He scares me,_ Aita repeated. _The sheer level of Master Assassins in his mind mixed with his own aptitude... one of those Masters being the very man responsible for killing me in a past life... it is concerning._

_Well... aren’t you lucky I’m his kid then?_

_Yes... luck..._ Elijah rolled his eyes at the unease in that response and fought a smile. It was gratifying to know that the voice he’d fought against in his mind all his life was afraid of the man most interested in looking after his welfare.

** DESMOND’S POV**

_Stop scratching_ , Ezio admonished.

_But it itches,_ Desmond whined, scraping his nails over the light rash on his left arm through his hoodie sleeve with a wince as he walked down to the research lab.

_I’m ashamed my kin doesn’t have the good sense to guard against the Syrian sun,_ Altaïr tutted.

_Yeah, well... take a good look at Edward. I swear, if you hadn’t died by stabbing you would’ve died of skin cancer._

_Hey!_

“Want some Aloe Vera?” Jackie asked sympathetically. Desmond glanced over at her in surprise.

“Thought you were going with Charlie to Washington state,” he commented, raising an eyebrow. Jackie shrugged and pointed to her splinted ankle as she unwrapped the new prototype hoodie that the design team had been working on and held it up for inspection. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense... hey. How are you settling in?”

“I’m a lot happier here than I was at Abstergo,” she said honestly. “I felt like my career wasn’t going anywhere, and truthfully... after Charlie left, I always had this... weird feeling.” She paused in what she was doing and frowned. “He was acting a tiny bit off in the Grand Temple but not a lot, no more than usual really, and now I know why, but Li just. She took him to get his hand fixed up and then out of nowhere comes back and said he had a psychotic break? And none of us ever heard from him again until Louisiana.”

“And now?”

“Now? I’m encouraged to challenge myself in a way I feel comfortable in doing that, and maybe there isn’t an opportunity for career advancement but I don’t need pay and I’m already doing exactly what I want to be doing.” She shrugged. “I made my choice and so far I don’t regret it. R&D was the eventual area of my career I wanted to get to so that’s awesome I can do it here and _still_ pretend to be Lara Croft whenever I want.”

“Right. So...” Desmond blinked and eyed the new prototype hoodie over with a slight frown before looking up at her again. “Gonna be honest, I see no difference.”

“We’ve included a wing-glider fabric layer that gets magnetically folded into the lining of the arms and shoulders,” Jackie explained, pointing out the formerly-decorative red piping in the aforementioned spots standing out bright against the white material. “It’s... nobody’s tested it yet, but we kinda need a volunteer...”

“...I’m going to regret coming down here, aren’t I?”

_I tried an imitation of Da Vinci’s Flying Machine on the Homestead once,_ Connor said casually as Desmond peered over the edge of the tower that both Ezio and Altaïr before him had taken a Leap of Faith from. The wood platforms had long since been removed and replaced with some sort of fancy metal grating that mentally had all of Vox Populi mockingly saying ‘Aesthetic’ in a simpering tone, but the thing might as well have been made of unspun wool for all the solidity it held under Desmond’s feet at that moment.

_It didn’t end well._

”What didn’t end well?” Desmond asked absently under his breath, whistling as he took in the drop. The cliff face had eroded over the centuries and the neat little outcropping they’d used to place the hay bales on was gone. All that remained was a newly-installed suicide net that had yet to be properly set up and fortified by their small and over-worked construction team. “Is it just me or is this a lot more dangerous than it used to be?”

_Time can inflict new wounds after it heals the old ones_ , Altaïr breathed. _I don’t like this. Jump now before I lose my nerve._

_Seconded,_ Haytham muttered. _I was never keen on Leaps of Faith anyway._

_Jumped off higher,_ came Edward’s unconcerned response as he chipped in his two cents.

_I tried out_ Leonardo’s _Flying Machine and ended up in a canal!_ Ezio exclaimed. _And a few years later he_ coincidentally _invented the parachute. Let’s not do this and say we didn’t._

“I’m gonna jump,” Desmond announced, placing his right foot slightly forward in preparation for his Leap.

“Do a flip,” Jackie replied, not looking up from her phone from where she was setting up the recording - ‘for research purposes’ - and in general not looking too worried.

_Yeet,_ Connor whispered half-heartedly as Desmond launched himself into the void of free fall.

The first few moments were par for the course. Desmond’s body went through the automatic muscle memory sequences of a Leap of Faith, angling himself for perfect streamlining. As soon as he turned so that his back was presented to the material they were landing on for shock absorption, he jerked his arms quickly from his sides to unlock the prototype glider in his hoodie.

Material promptly unfurled and caught the wind, jerking him harshly back into staring straight down at the fast approaching canyon river far below. For a few crucial milliseconds, time slowed as they hung suspended above the world.

It became just as quickly evident that the material wasn’t sturdy enough to work properly and support him, and as his arms began to flail as he transferred into an uncontrolled fall all six of them started screaming bloody murder. Curses that didn’t even _exist anymore_ flew from Desmond’s mouth in multi-lingual and jumbled succession, and when Ezio finally had the sense of mind to aim their rappel line at the platform no one else realized he’d done it until they were dangling somewhat painfully by the right arm several thousand feet above the ground by nothing more than a thin piece of industrial cabling.

_THIS! THIS IS WHY LEO INVENTED PARACHUTES YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOTS!!!_ Ezio ranted.

_But Ezio, doesn’t that mean Leo made the parachute for you, which using roundabout logic means you are also an idiot?_

_...You_ **_know wHaT CONNOR-_ **

** AIDEN’S POV**

Desmond had given permission a few years ago to bring his family to Masyaf, and after the sky started falling down around them Aiden had decided to cash in that favor. Jackson was sixteen now, and despite the occasional trip to visit and the constant texting and emailing he hadn’t been so far removed from his family in... well, ever really. There’d always been a distance between job and family, and after Lena’s death there’s been a rift in the family in general. Aiden had nearly shattered what little they’d managed to keep by avenging her death, and moving to St. Louis after them had been difficult.

Before Desmond and Avery had shown up, he’d spent a good few years quietly proving he could be supportive of is little sister and nephew. Living off the grid in a cash deposit hotel room was something he was used to, but he was tired, and the factory job he’d managed to procure to ensure he could support them wasn’t anything glamorous. Nicole had only suggested he move into the spare bedroom of her home four months prior to his coming into contact with Vox Populi, the relationships still strained even then. She had agreed with him about erasing Jackson’s data from Abstergo, wary of what they had wanted it for to the point of paranoia, and Desmond’s further explanation about the Templars only cemented her desire to see that information eradicated.

Aiden’s knuckles paused a few inches from the door, on the cusp of knocking but hesitant. He lowered his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket with a sigh, letting his forehead thunk against the door instead before taking a step backward. How could he ask her to uproot her life, and Jackson’s life, all over again? They weren’t sure it was the end of the world yet, it just looked like it might be. The opening of the door derailed that train of thought as brother and sister regarded one another for a few tense moments. Finally, Nicole sighed and stepped back into the hallway so that he could come in.

“Jackson’s doing his homework,” she explained quietly. “This Pandemic really sucks for education. Why are you here, Aiden?”

“I’d like to take the both of you to Masyaf to be with me,” Aiden replied just as softly. “With the apocalypse or whatever it is approaching... I’d feel better knowing you were nearby.”

“Syria.” Her tone was flat. “You want me to move to Syria after we just got settled here.”

“They’re good people, Nicky. _Really_ good people. Jackson would still get a great education. Elijah’s got studies and everything, and a few of them are retired teachers. He’d be getting a personalized top tier education. Learn a few survival skills-”

“Therapy?”

“They have a therapist.” Nicole blinked at that, brow furrowing.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” Aiden scratched at the back of his neck. “Vox Populi... everybody at Masyaf is in some way in need of mental health care. Jackson wouldn’t be treated any differently there, he’d just be another part of the community. No one would treat him like fractured glass. And Elijah, well... the kid’s fourteen, but he’s wicked smart. So Jacks wouldn’t be the only teenager, with Avery there too.”

“What about COVID-19?”

“It hasn’t reached our little part of the world yet. We’re pretty isolated.” He showed a wry, ironic grin. “'Mask free' environment right now.”

“You can be sure I’m laughing internally at that,” came the exasperated response. “It’s like a hive of delusional Vigilantes or something.”

“Huh?” Halfway through rolling her eyes, she properly took in the bemused tilt of Aiden’s head and blinked.

“Do you really not know how the media portrays you?” Nicole asked. Aiden shrugged.

“We don’t really tune in too much to the news and how they see us,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “There have been other concerns that kept us occupied.”

“Like the world ending?”

“...Yeah.” Aiden winced and ducked his head to let the bill of his cap shade the upper half of his face. “Please, Nicole.”

“And why can’t you move back in with us?” Nicole retorted, crossing her arms. “Why do we have to move in with you?” Aiden swallowed and summoned the courage to meet her eyes again. Fearless in front of Chicago gangs, but before his sister...

“Because I’m doing something that matters to me, and I was lost before I found it.” He placed a hand on Nicole’s shoulder as he took a deep breath and continued speaking. “I know I’ve hurt you searching for my place in life in the past, you and Jackson... and Lena. But this is something I _need to do_. I... I’ll stay. If you stay. Above all else I’ve learned the hard way to put my family first. If I could be where I belong, I’d like that most. I know it’s asking a lot. But I’m giving you the choice now that I should have given you years ago.”

“I want to go,” Jackson said quietly, appearing from where he had been hiding on the stairs and joining them. He’d shot up a good few inches in height, about half an inch shorter than Aiden now, and he still had growing to do. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders were hunched self-consciously as he looked between his mom and his uncle. “I’m tired of getting that _look_. Everybody looks and me and sees the _trauma_ , not what I’ve done _since it happened._ Nobody knows why I’m in therapy except that it was bad, and no one can actually get to _know me_. They don’t know Jackson Pearce. They know _Jason Paerson_. And I hate it.”

He sniffed, pulling one hand out of its pocket to swipe at his nose as he looked his uncle right in the eye.

“You really mean I could just be me, and no one would judge me for it?” He asked. Aiden nodded. He turned to Nicole. “Mom. Please. I want to go. I _need_ to go.”

“...Pack your things,” Nicole murmured softly, swallowing. Jackson ran straight upstairs and she sighed. “Guess they won’t need a party planner, huh.”

“No, but a public liaison might be a good idea?” Aiden offered weakly. She rolled her eyes to hide an exasperated smile and followed Jackson upstairs to go to her own bedroom.

** CLAY’S POV**

_Light. Electricity. Pathways. A way forward where there had not been before._

Clay was intimately familiar with the confines of his world. Each node, each cable, each projector. He had surpassed any form of navigating them that could be considered human, recognizing that he had become a sentient Artificial Intelligence and adapting to best interact with this new style of existence. When Desmond had been stuck inside the Animus and forced to sync with the last of his ancestors’ memories to put his brain back together, the physical construct of Animus Island and Clay’s corporeal presence there had been solely for the other man’s benefit. After all, what did a highly intelligent computer program - summarized in the basest of views as a complex string of ones and zeroes - need with a body? It was easier to move about as code and data.

Learning to express himself in a corporeal form again on a regular basis had its challenges, and Clay had quite honestly struggled with it when he’d been uploaded into Vox Populi’s data core as an Assassin Jarvis (and why did everyone hate that little moniker aside from Charlie, really? It was funny!). But people needed to see his face, gauge his tone by his expressions and body language. All things he had forgotten how to navigate to the point where it was difficult for him to read them, himself.

Elijah had been a virtual - literally - Godsend when it came to that. They bonded. They talked. Clay learned how to interact with people as a person again. Elijah felt more comfortable in his own head with Aita prowling around. Mutual benefit.

So the fact that there was a new pathway to traverse, a new space to explore outside the confines of being compressed data in a hard drive speaking through a speaker system and outside the limited walls of the Animus room. Clay was actually excited. It meant, now that R&D had finally gotten the projection system properly set up, that he could manifest as a corporeal entity inside the Keep of Masyaf wherever and whenever he wanted. R&D were continuing to work on the Animus Wi-Fi connection and the neural relays needed to run it, but eventually Clay wouldn’t be the only hologram walking around.

Mavis had proposed the idea that it would be easier to separate self from ancestor if the ancestor were visible and interactive outside of someone’s head, and everyone had agreed. Half the point of Animus therapy was that the descendant could see their ancestor as separate from them. To see that on a daily basis would be a further step in the right direction. This also meant Hologram Ghosts, but considering the amount of skeletons in the closets Masyaf could handle the conspiracy nut jobs who would say it was actually haunted by spirits when word of sightings inevitably got out to the outside world...

More pathways. More projectors turning on and connecting to the system. Clay grinned. Freedom, after years of virtual Hell. He could walk and talk among actual people again, and once R&D figured out how to make the projections solid he could actually interact with them too. It was bittersweet, amazing, and something he’d never hoped to dream of even when he’d asked Desmond to act as a carrier for his consciousness in a fit of genuine lunacy way back when. Before planet-frying solar flares and not quite deaths and Abstergo and Vox Populi. Back when things were simple and the goal was to survive long enough to make a difference. They had power now, pull, reach. Enough skilled field workers to send out teams that would rather die than be caught by Templars armed with the master skills of the Assassins of Old.

He had a second chance to be part of that again. And it felt _amazing_.

_The electrical connections sizzled and zapped pleasantly against his data form as he zipped through the system at random, reveling in the joy of the sheer amount of space he now had within his reach. At random, he selected a room to manifest corporeally in without much thought given to where in the Keep he was._

“We’re not going to be making a habit of this, are we.” Clay froze, wincing, as he turned around and actually squeaked in response to the _definitely not a question even in the rhetorical sense sentence_.

Mavis, reclining in a bathtub full to a ludicrous level of bubbles in her bathroom. A book and a wine glass while R&B music played in the background.

“...H- hi Mavis.”

Okay, so there were still a few bugs to work out. He’d get the hang of it eventually. Because quite honestly as a test run things literally could not have gone worse.

** CHARLIE’S POV**

“I’m gonna kill Desmond,” Charlie muttered as he sheltered under a stone slab inside the Washington state Precursor site. His team - consisting of Cal, Devon, and Lin - were beside him, all of them huddled and hiding from a swarm of angry killer hornets. “These things are definitely escaped experiments that got released from cryostasis or something. I _told him_ this was a bad idea. But did he listen? Nope! I’m allergic to bees. Will these things be better, or worse than bees? You guys have a clue?”

“They hate fire, yes? Or is it that smoke makes them tired?” Lin asked, frowning. All four of them looked absolutely ridiculous in their Assassin themed bee suits.

“We’re not setting the place on fire,” Cal sighed, sliding his face down the mesh visor of his suit with a groan. “I can’t even begin to list the reasons that’s a bad idea.”

“I like fire,” Devon said, entirely ignoring Cal. “I think I’ve got a propane torch on me somewhere, hang on...”

“Yeah? Where’d you steal that from?” Charlie muttered, ducking a swarm dive.

“A hardware store,” Devon retorted, shrugging.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Hey, anyone got a can of aerosol spray?”

“We are _not_ making this a Tiktok-”

“Aww crap, gonna have to online order one from Smile. You think they send their drones to Isu Temples?”

“Considering they’re openly a multinational warehouse company for Abstergo?” Cal raised an eyebrow concurrently with his eyes raising almost imploringly toward the Heavens. “I’m sure they can send one of their teams with it...” Devon fixed him with a look before adjusting the nozzle on his torch and lighting it. The Hornets fled with an angry buzz, scattering into the cavernous halls of the temple.

“So. Anyone gonna complain now?” Devon asked. “Cause I just saved our-”

_“What the Hell is that thing!?”_ Lin shouted, pointing at a soft flash of light and gaping.

“Please tell me that wasn’t a house pet,” Cal murmured, crouching low to the ground in an effort to make himself less noticeable.

The animal in question looked like a domesticated house cat. A big, overly-fluffy Forest Cat with tufted ears, and snowshoe paws at the end of long powerful legs that is. Grey fur with dark, gleaming tiger style tabby stripes and a sweeping feather duster tail. Ice blue eyes shone out at them as it prowled forward, large as an Irish Wolfhound, whiskers fanning out the length of a grown man’s forearm.

It also appeared to be teleporting wherever it wished to go, evaporating like grey smoke and reforming somewhere else. A quiet chirping noise, like that of a songbird, seemed to issue and echo through its throat into a a dual tone warbling hum, and it sent chills down all their spines just to hear it.

“There’s no way that was a pet. Hunting companion, _maybe_ ,” Charlie hedged. “I’m picturing that thing in the wild steppes of Siberia stalking people.” The animal in question walked right up to them, dropped down onto its haunches, and simply stared at them. The Hornets, when they got close, veered sharply away, primitive instincts terrified. “...Hey, buddy...”

“Mao.”

“Is it trying to eat us or guard us?” Devon whispered.

“No idea. Dev, act as bait.”

“Charlie, if you think for one second that I-”

“Out you go,” Cal grunted, hefting him like a sack of potatoes out into the open.

-/\\-

In general, things had gone from worse to even worse. Worser. Worsest. Worsest Worser of the Worse. Suiting up like an Avenging Beekeeper was the start of their problems, and entering into what they quickly discovered had been a scientific laboratory with the experiments kept in malfunctioning cryostasis chambers was like the kidney stone on top of the scat pile. Charlie had reached the conclusion that they needed to cave in the structure when they left, and to do it as soon as possible, because the Killer Hornets were honestly the least scary creatures locked up in the place. Sure, some had escaped, but not a lot and that was because the door was cracked open in the mountains when they’d arrived.

...He was convinced he’d seen a _dragon_ somewhere in there...

”Forests are just kinda... Eh.” Charlie shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets. After declaring the place a legitimate death trap of no value to them, they were laying the explosives to bury it for all eternity. “Fell out of a tree when I was a kid, terrified of going up in one ever since.”

“Shahin didn’t draw that out of you?” Lin asked, eyeing the large cat warily as it prowled around what was obviously a rabbit hole.

“Persian deserts, Lin. Persian deserts and seafaring. He liked the open spaces and avoided the trees with their obscuring horizons. If anything, he made my dislike of forests _worse_. Which is hilarious because he really lived two completely separate lives, and yet still manages to have an impact? Shahin was just his alternate persona that he felt was his true self more than the persona he presented to the rest of the world.”

“What was he, when not an Assassin?” Charlie smiled.

“A Prince.” Lin blinked in surprise and he continued. “Yeah, he was introduced to the Order when he ran into this sort of... weird dagger thing, I’m real hazy on the details, but it was Isu so it got the attention of the Brotherhood and he decided that that was something he wanted to do with his life.” The entire hillside shuddered as a massive explosion was set off, dust and smoke pouring out of the cavern hole as it all came crashing down. “Well, that’s that then.”

“We’d better not being taking that thing with us,” Devon grumbled, eyeing the cat with a glare as he touched at the long claw marks that had torn at his upper left leg. He had a significant limp. “Who needs a teleporting murder fluff anyway?”

“We can’t exactly drop it off at a pet shelter,” Cal countered, rolling his eyes. “And we can’t leave it for Abstergo to reverse engineer teleportation technology from. What other option is there?” Devon eyed the brick of C-4 in his hand contemplatively. “We’re not blowing up the murderous teleport cat, Devon.”

“It tried to eat me. It actually tried to eat me.”

“Yeah, well it’s purring now,” Charlie defended, scratching it behind the ears. And yes, a sort of rumbling purr that sounded more like a motor boat for its volume was definitely audible.

“If it eats Kadar I’m letting Des know I was never a part of this,” Devon huffed, crossing his arms and pouting.

“...I think I’m going to call him ‘Billiam,’” Charlie decided. “He’s got that sort of permanent scowl of disappointment thing going on.”

** SHAUN’S POV**

The longer they followed the gps toward the meeting location, the more apprehensive Shaun and Rebecca became. He could see it in the way her shoulders drew into a taut, hunched line in the passenger seat of the van, felt it in the way pressure and nausea curled in the pit of his stomach. They knew these hills, these rivers, these mountain peaks. One of the worst days of their lives had occurred here.

“He’s not... he wouldn’t... it’s an Abstergo preservation and research site now,” Rebecca murmured. It went unspoken that she was referring to Bill’s summoning of them to this location. “He wouldn’t. Would he?”

“He would,” Shaun muttered. “Luckily, the gps shows an actual address. Least the- least he could have done- the least he could have done was to tell us we were going to Turin...”

Unlike the last time they had camped in these parts, they had been given a cash deposit apartment in the town of Turin itself rather than living it rough in a cave. A small, two bedroom apartment with a cramped kitchen, a full bath, and one of the most measly attempts at a living room possible. The master bedroom was so small they had to shove their mattress flush against a wall, leaving only one side open to climb in on, and the smaller bedroom actually housed the washer and dryer in a small closet in it because it happened to be closest to the bathroom. This they had made their office, and now they were headed out of the city to a rustic cabin out in the forest. Layla would be staying there at the dig site for the discovered remains, her mobile Animus processing the data right there.

The road turned before the entrance to the Grand Temple came into view and the pair of them relaxed ever so slightly. Both were extremely aware of where it was in relation to their person, the waypoint all but seared into their minds for its bad memories like a nightmarish homing beacon. As the inclination of the trail - now a mixture of gravel and dirt rather than paved road - steepened, Shaun slowed the pace of the van. When the cabin came into view around the bend of the curve, he put it in park and let the engine idle as they eyed the campfire smoke and Bill’s black Charger sitting under a tree. The other teams had come by to excavate the dig site and set up the equipment, and now it was just Bill, Shaun, Rebecca, and... Layla.

“We’re really doing this. Aren’t we.”

“Yeah.” Shaun drew a breath. “We are. For better or worse?”

“Till death do us part.” She bit her lip and twined their fingers together, running her thumb over the knuckles of his right hand before letting go so that he could pull the van round the last few yards next to the cabin.

As cabins went it was more of a shack. Large, with running electricity and a kitchen nook, but the only bed in sight was a couch and the bathroom consisted of an outhouse and a nearby creek. It was so spacious it was bare, and the dining table was covered in computers to analyze the data they were collecting from the Animus which lay nearby. Bill was seated in a beat up recliner, a stack of papers balanced on an armrest as he perused his office work.

“With you in a moment,” he muttered, holding out a finger to stop them from speaking. He didn’t bother to even look at them. Exchanging disgusted glances, the pair moved past him and outside toward the dig site.

Layla Hassan was looking the worse for wear, dark circles under her eyes and smelling heavily of cigarette smoke. Her file had indicated she’d taken up the hobby to cope with what had happened in Atlantis. Paler and thinner than was generally considered healthy for someone of her ethnic background, height, body type, etc, she was crouched next to the grave with a frown creasing her brow.

”You speak with our glorious leader yet?” Shaun asked gruffly. A small smirk played at her lips as she stood, brushed her hands on her pants, and turned to meet their acquaintance.

“Shaun Hastings and Rebecca Crane. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Rebecca muttered, eyeing the obvious glow of the mood suppression chip on Layla’s neck distrustfully.

“Rebecca’s convinced you’ll either kill us, die on us, or abandon us somewhere,” Shaun sighed. “We haven’t had good luck with teams in... well, ever really.”

“Maybe I’m the one to break that record,” Layla said confidently. Shaun winced and she rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Don’t tell me you think I just jinxed it.”

“Might have done. We’re _superstitious_ that way.”

“Hastings! Crane!”

“Already in a good mood,” Rebecca groaned, walking back into the cabin with the others on her heels to see Bill pacing the center of the room with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Bill.”

“Explain to me why we’re here.”

“I know how to read a briefing report, thanks.”

“Humor me.”

“We received a communication from an unknown source with coordinates that led us to the exact location of an unknown Viking’s grave. Upon excavation, our dig team were shocked to see that these remains predated the apparent establishment of Viking settlement in North America far further South than the other sites.” She raised an eyebrow toward Shaun, who quickly stepped in.

“The timing’s a bit suspect, what with the end of the world and all, so maybe... maybe we’ll find a solution to our problems in this Viking’s memories.” He frowned. “Which I have problems with, by the way. Desecrating someone’s grave. Acquiring someone’s ancestral memories when they’re willing, that’s shady but justifiable. This... I don’t like this.”

“They’re not using their memories anymore,” Layla, countered, crossing her arms. “It’s just like archeology at that point, really.”

“I have problems with that as well, thanks very much. It’s only archeology if people pay enough for the artifacts, otherwise it’s just professional grave robbing.”

“Never heard you complain before,” Bill commented lightly. Shaun bristled.

“Maybe you just don’t speak sarcasm then, Mr. _Grand Master sir._ ”

“I have other teams to brief,” Bill snapped, hefting his papers and shoving them into a satchel before striding out the door toward his car. They heard the door slam and then the engine rev before tires ground on gravel and faded with distance.

“He saved my life,” Layla said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing to the side.

“And he’s cost the lives of countless others,” Rebecca retorted, sighing. “He’s got this... Scorched Earth policy, every man for himself. You get injured or captured on a mission, your team is encouraged to drop you. You’re expressly forbidden to mount a rescue attempt because the mission is more important. Does he ever stop and think what happens when you’ve lost one person too many and don’t have enough people to go on any more missions?”

“Is- is it really that bad?” Layla stuttered, eyes wide. Shaun nodded, bowing his head. He was suddenly tired.

“I’m gonna... I’m gonna head back to the city, get some supplies to stock up with. Got any favorite brands?” He asked awkwardly.

“Just... This is going to sound really weird, but I’ve got the weirdest craving for Milk Duds after an Animus session...” Shaun and Rebecca exchanged a soft smile.

“Yeah, we knew someone who had that but it was with Spearmint gum,” Rebecca chuckled quietly.

Sunlight sparkled on a river far below the steep mountainside, catching the last rays of daylight. Shaun handed Rebecca a steaming mug of hot chocolate as they leant against the rickety wood fencing and watched a flock of birds fly low to the water, wary of the Lights playing off the sky in colors of golds and greens. As one they turned their backs on the view and stared at the solid rock wall of a mountain peak.

“You make it Irish?” She asked. He nodded.

“Felt like we needed it.”

“Yeah... on the other side of that mountain... if we climbed that thing, we could see it. Probably a bunch of construction generators, equipment, the whole setup. Eight years later and they’re still finding new crap in there.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking? That when Desmond saved us from that solar flare, it activated some sort of tech that’s altered our magnetic field to shield us from the radiation?”

“And that maybe because it was so old it malfunctioned and didn’t cycle down the way it was supposed to.” She nodded and sipped her cocoa, coughing. “Shaun!”

“What? You said you wanted it strong.”

“You’re right, I did. My bad.” They lapsed into silence for a while. “Should we tell someone?”

“Like who? Bill?”

“Yeah. Good point...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not, in fact, like pineapple on pizza. I do not like pineapple in general. Nor do I enjoy apple juice in oatmeal nor scooping that up on toast. Just. FYI. This entire argument is based off the rantings of fictional shower arguments I imagine between characters when rinsing my hair lol.
> 
> GENERAL REMINDER THAT THIS SERIES HAS A THEMES PLAYLIST. I know some of you really enjoy hearing the music the author listens to when writing so, yeah.
> 
> https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtySlXIiOy6HfOp_Pzwwc7fyMFZ4K7Syb
> 
> If some of you are wondering why I say that the Grand Temple is so close to the cabin we walk around in during the modern day segments, please watch this two minute long video I recorded explaining...
> 
> https://youtu.be/D8oNXUryfKA


	5. Unholy Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ezio gets a haircut and Desmond buys industrial trampolines.

_ May 10th, 2020 _

_Shaun hated taking a trip all the way to Boston, but it was one of the few East Coast locations their ships could find harbor to drop off supply shipments. With the added restrictions placed on imports due to COVID-19, the ports had dwindled. Rebecca and Layla were at the cabin hooking the Animus up one system at a time to the computers, and with nothing better to do he was making the run. A custom-printed tartan pattern mask with the words ‘try me’ on it in all caps was firmly in place over his mouth, his hidden taser strapped to his right arm. No one would be messing with him today, no thank you._

_He was stepping onto the pier when he a giant grey cat dragging an exasperated man in a tan and navy hoodie down the sidewalk passed by. The animal was in what looked to be a Great Dane harness, a thick leash attached, and as it prowled forward with a look of utmost determination on its face Shaun blinked._

_“Something about that cat reminds me that I need to check in with Bill,” he muttered._

-/\\-

The problem with ordering industrial trampolines in bulk was that the seller generally wanted to know what they were for. And how, exactly, was Desmond supposed to respond to that. ‘Yes sir, I need them for training exercises in my ancient cult.’ Nuh uh.

“Oh, you know... kids,” he said, cringing at home lame it was. He blinked as Charlie walked in with an enormous cat in tow and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He held up a finger to request patience, finished the order, and turned to him with a tired expression.

“We’re not keeping the cat, Charlie.”

“Where else is it supposed to go?” Charlie countered. Desmond crossed his arms and winced as, elsewhere in the Keep, he sensed his ancestors getting up to mischief with Clay. He was the guinea pig for the Animus holographic system and currently the neural relay stuck to his right temple with sticky tape was giving him a searing headache. Having grown used to having all of them in his head at all times except for the rare occasions when they were sitting in the Animus, the distance made his thoughts feel stretched. Influx of sensory detail was coming in like packaged data and being processed in his subconscious as new memories in the spaces of his head that felt like they were where his ancestors belonged; consequentially, he wasn’t the only one experiencing discomfort. After all, his ancestors could feel what he felt even as Altaïr led them around the Keep as tour guide.

Not that any of them needed a tour guide, sharing one another’s memories and all. But it made sure they were able to test every single emitter throughout the complex and the duration and distance were yet more tests on the side.

Charlie’s fingers snapping in front of his nose drew him sharply back to the present and the giant fur ball in the room.

“Hey? You okay?” He asked, concerned. Desmond shook himself slightly and then nodded.

“Sorry, yeah. It’s just a bit weird to get used to, receiving input from five other locations all at once.”

“Should that even be possible? I mean, they’re different personalities, they’re not separate _people_. It should be a simple matter of lifting the memories and copying them into the projection database.”

“When has anything ever been simple with me, Charlie?” Desmond sighed, giving him a look. “When whatever happened to dump them in there happened in the first place, it sort of fused us together. Can’t separate one from the other, trust me, Mavis tried. The amount of swear words I was exposed to that I’d never heard before- and keep in mind there are five other people in my head that are all multi-lingual so that’s an accomplishment in and of itself- it was outstanding. Kind of terrifying, if I’m being honest. So, no. No easy method for me.” He frowned and scratched at his left arm, sighing. “Stupid sunburn...”

“We can’t dump the cat anywhere else, it teleports,” Charlie argued as he switched the subject. “It stays.”

“Of course it does... what did I tell you about things becoming needlessly complicated in my presence, Charlie? What did I tell you?”

“Yeah yeah, touché and all that.” Charlie frowned. “Think we should give him to Elijah to look after? I mean, even if they hate each other, he’s really the only person that knows what the cat needs to stay healthy.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“And what about me joining this Alpha testing program so that they don’t start everything right off the bat with a known outlier?”

“Also a good idea.” Desmond blinked, a distant and glassy look in his eyes, before he groaned and, smacking his forehead, dragged his hand down his face. “Oh, God. Why.”

“Look, just relax,” Edward said, patting Ezio's shoulder. “We've got a great reference right here, and Haytham is extremely handy with the clippers.”

“That does not fill me with confidence,” Ezio muttered, crossing his arms and scowling. Haytham tutted as he wet the knife. Clay, who had been - ehm - kind enough, to ‘spawn in’ some tools, was grinning fiendishly off on the side as he leant against a wall.

“I’m enjoying this way too much,” he snickered. Altaïr smirked, a mischievous spark in his eye, as he eyed over Ezio.

“This won’t work without you,” he whined, the glee in his tone entirely detracting from the petulant quality necessary to elicit pity.

“I never would have taken you for the pranking sort,” Connor commented, raising an eyebrow with a bemused but genuine smile. Altaïr shrugged.

“Let’s just say that I’m experimenting a bit with the freedom of adolescence that was denied to me and leave it at that.”

“Poor Desmond.”

“Forget Desmond, poor me! Why did I agree to this, again?” Ezio snapped, wincing as Haytham lathered some holographic shaving cream and went to work removing his beard. “Clay, please. Tell me that there’s some sort of coding that can do a- a reset or something once Altaïr’s had his fun. I like my appearance the way it is- was.”

“Yeah man, same coding we’ll be using to change your clothes.”

“Then _why_ am I being tortured in this way!?”

“We like to watch you try not to squirm,” Edward snickered.

If looks could kill, Edward would have been offed, resurrected, and offed again.

Desmond decided that he didn’t want to know. Nope. Nada. He had enough problems to deal with than whatever it was his ancestors were currently getting up to. Like delivering a giant cat named after his father in a somewhat twisted way to his son, who had never personally seen one before but the evil reincarnated personality inside his head had.

...Yeah. No issues there. Nope.

Billiam prowled at his side, huge and eerily silent, the other members of the Order jumping out of the way in the corridors as they walked toward R&D where Elijah spent most of his free time. Jackie and Charity glanced up from their work with wide eyes, merely pointing, and he followed the directions to where his son was.

Elijah was in the middle of tearing an Apple apart and writing down his notes on it, a look of intense concentration on his face with his tongue poking out slightly between his glanced up from his project, set eyes on Billiam, and leant backwards on his stool to the point where he fell off the back of it and had to pick himself up off the floor.

“Whoa, is that- is that a- Where did you get an Isu house cat from!?”

“This is not a house cat,” Desmond corrected, frowning. “This is a cat I wouldn’t trust with my livestock. Trust it to guard my house, sure, but less as a pet than as a hunting companion.” Elijah rolled his eyes and walked over, reaching a particular spot on the animal’s chin and scratching. Billiam let out a rumbling purr and collapsed onto his side, writhing on the ground in bliss.

“House cat,” Elijah reiterated. “Wait. Did Charlie get this thing in Washington?”

“Yep.”

“How’d he get it through customs!?”

“He has his ways. And honestly, I don’t want to know.”

“...Yeah, fair enough... what’s his name?”

“...Billiam.”

“You’re- you’re joking. Right.”

“Nope.”

-/\\-

“Do things like this happen... often?” Nicole asked, confused. Jackson was off somewhere with Avery doing who knows what, but at the moment Aiden had been introducing his sister to the rest of the Order. Having arrived twelve hours after Charlie, they were just in time to witness the chaos that was the Alpha testing program of the holoprojectors in full swing. And by that, that meant that Charlie, Jackie, and Mavis were trying to get Shahin to properly manifest outside of his skull without issues and he kept glitching through walls and floors. Making matters worse, Desmond’s ancestors - no doubt encouraged by Clay - had been having a grand old time stealing his identity.

Altaïr and Ezio had altered their appearance to look exactly like him, even going so far as to pretend to scratch at the sunburn on his left arm that was currently plaguing him, and the drama that Nicole had asked her brother about happened to be Desmond arguing with them over it.

“Not as such, no,” Aiden said quietly.

“Why, Why would you ever do this?” Desmond groaned. Altaïr snickered, looking far too pleased with himself. Ezio shrugged.

“He persuaded me to help him with it, I wasn’t too interested in the first place.”

“But you still did it.”

“Did I say I was apologizing?”

“You are all literally _the worst_.”

“Wanna test a theory,” Edward said quickly, curiously, before shoving Desmond out of his body. Literally. He was standing outside of his own body - which Edward currently had the keys to - as a non-corporeal entity.

“That is _freaky_ ,” Clay whistled, looking somehow dually disturbed and impressed. “That- that is- wow. Just- wow.”

“Uh, Mavis?” Charlie called into his watch, frowning. “Yeah, I know you left for like. Five minutes but you’re gonna want to get up here fast...”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Desmond groaned, dragging a hand down his face and then massaging his temples. “Why is it that I’m not actually a person right now and I still have a migraine...”

“The three of you could be clones,” Connor remarked, clearly intrigued. “The only alteration to their appearance was their clothing. Otherwise, Ezio had his hair cut and his beard trimmed to match. It’s a bit... unnerving, actually.”

“I’ll show _you_ unnerving,” Desmond grumbled, fists balled tight against his sides as he stalked back toward his body and met Edward’s suddenly panicked stare. “C’mere.”

“Help!”

-/\\-

_Sofia took a deep breath before stepping into the office, wincing at the profile of the man who had his back turned to her._

_Abstergo’s latest CEO after the death of her father had been... well, he’d never been a favorite of Sofia’s even when he was lower on the company ladder. Always so proper, a fake grin in place, his blond hair always slicked back against his neck and his blue eyes always seeming to her unnaturally dark for the lightness in their color. Like there was something malevolent that they were conveying at all times. His gaze had always made her shiver - never in fear of her life or anything like that, just unsettling - and it was for that very reason that she had told her father she would not work with his protégé nearby._

_The wheels of the office chair squeaked slightly as he turned to face her where she sat stiffly and primly on the edge of her seat, the desk between them, and there again came the false smile with too-white and too-sharp teeth. This entire situation reminded her all too easily of entering into a wolf’s den._

_“Dr. Rikkin,” he said smoothly._

_“Mr. Frïa,” Sofia responded coolly._

_“Please, call me Angan.”_

_“I’d rather not.” Favored of her father as his successor and groomed by him for several years for the job, she had never once referred to him by his first name. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, unperturbed. “Why have you summoned me?”_

_“Summoned is such a... dominating term,” Angan began, standing from his desk and pacing slowly behind it as he spoke. “I_ summoned _nothing. It was a request. The_ reason _for that request, however, is in fact a demand.” If it were possible, Sofia’s spine stiffened further with tension. “I understand that you have been running an Animus team of Assassin Hunters?”_

_“I was, until your department handed their monitoring off to a different division head without telling me beforehand.”_

_“Yes... such a thing did occur several months prior, did it not?”_

_“Yes, and since then, the mental condition of the team has deteriorated further,” she snapped, briefly losing her composure and internally berating herself when Angan’s smile became ever so slightly genuine._

_“Might I remind you that it was_ your _prototype - Aerie, I think you called it? - Animus that produced such erratic results in the first place. You have the technology, but are unable to guarantee the safety protocols.” He shrugged again. “I was simply taking the liberty of removing those protocols altogether. No need for pretense in Black Projects, Dr. Rikkin. We can do as we please off the books. It was your technology that enabled us to build a more effective, aggressive hunter off the initial model. You should be proud of handing us the prototype.”_

_“...As you say,” she murmured submissively through gritted teeth. Some unknown instinct was prompting her to play along in the interests of self-preservation and quite frankly the rational aspect of her mind agreed with it. The man emitted danger. Underneath his proper business suit she knew iron muscles, capable of snapping a man’s neck, were hidden. She’d seen him do it before, her father quietly emotionally absent as he looked on. That particular incident had been the reason she had demanded he be transferred out of their facility so she wouldn’t have to live in fear of his shadow coming down the hall._

_“What I require now is the correct memory sequence you used to garner the skills of an Assassin Hunter. Having Shay Patrick Cormac’s memories is all well and good, but not knowing how to introduce them to achieve peak efficacy is an issue. Simply delivering the memories into the subject’s mind has produced... disappointing results, to say the least.”_

_“...It’s not the sequence of memories, but the subject’s own personal history, that you need to be considerate of,” Sofia said reluctantly, shifting in her seat with a grimace. They both flinched and looked outside as another falling satellite shook the building. “Aren’t there other things Abstergo’s CEO should be more concerned with? I don’t think Hunters should be our main focus anymore. If the Assassins manage to find a solution to the death of our planet, shouldn’t we be grateful? Desmond Miles stopped the Earth from being burned by solar flares eight years ago. I know many people within our Order that toasted to him for that despite the trouble he’d caused us.”_

_“And continues to cause us,” Angan reminded her, ticking a finger back and forth with metronomic time, keeping perfect synchronicity between that action and the pacing back and forth across the carpet. “Or is that not the reason you created the Hunters to begin with?”_

_“I had barely begun to explore the possible ramifications of that project when you stole it from me,” she warned, eyes narrowing. “Shay Patrick Cormac didn’t kill Assassins because he enjoyed it, Mr. Frïa. He did it because he had a strong personal code. That code fell in line with Templar ideals, but make no mistake. Abstergo no longer holds to those same ideals as our Order once did. Creating the perfect Hunter by resurrecting Cormac’s past could easily be the creation of our own destruction.”_

_“I will take your advisements under consideration,” Angan said, swiftly turning in place to jab a finger on a button at his desk. The doors opened as two discreet security guards entered the room. “Escort Dr. Rikkin back to her car, will you?”_

_“No need,” Sofia said quickly, rising to her feet and gathering her purse with a stiff posture and short, jabbing movements. “I can see myself out. The least I can do is preserve what little dignity I’ve got left.”_

_“Which is to say, none,” Angan snickered at her retreating back. The only sign she gave to that sentence having ruffled her was the slight tensing of her shoulders._

_Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she made a swift departure, ducking into the nearest women’s restroom and bracing her hands in front of a sink for a few moments before abruptly turning the water on as cold as could be and splashing it into her face with shaking hands and quivering breath. Every time she encountered Angan Frïa, she felt as if she’d bared escaped with her life._

_Glancing up into the mirror, the disheveled and broken appearance of a women she no longer recognized stared back at her. Dark bangs dripping, mascara running, lipstick and blush and concealer smudged and wiping away as she dried her face with a paper towel. Sniffing, she pulled out her makeup kit and did her best to imitate the appearance of having pulled herself together before walking back into the hall and heading straight for the parking structure._

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: ALL RIGHTS GO TO UBISOFT, ASSASSIN’S CREED, AND ANY OTHER KNOWN AFFILIATES. THIS WORK IS INTENDED FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY AND SEEKS TO GAIN NO PROFIT FROM IT. 


End file.
